Haven
by jessmarianosleatherjacket
Summary: An unlikely encounter of old acquaintances and several drinks later, we proceed into the wretched lives of two destroyed souls.  Chapter 1 edited
1. The Girl Who Lost It All

Summary: Somewhere on the edge of town, one might wander so carelessly into a quaint bar on the corner of a vacant street. An ill-lit tavern which serves has haven for those lost and lonely. An unlikely encounter of old acquaintances and several drinks later, we proceed into the wretched lives of two destroyed souls.

_"If we are ever so lucky to discover a kindred spirit who shares in our misfortunes and despair, we can either continue in our downward spiral alone, or rise above it together. And maybe, just maybe, we'll make it through. You have a choice, Granger. Choose me."_

Disclaimer: Any names you may recognize belong to the amazing J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 1: The Girl Who Lost It All

A door creaked. The bell above the wooden contraption dinged as two more occupants made their way out of the dingy pub and into the slightly eerie midnight. Outside, a howling wind rustled wispy leaves into dark space, a sound muffled and reduced to a faint whistle for anyone miserable enough to remain inside the depressing facility at such late hours.

But only Hermione Granger could fit such a description with definitive accuracy. Like every night, she sat slumped in her usual bar stool, staring off into nothingness. That was all she saw. Nothingness. No matter where she turned, no matter where she went, no matter whose eyes she searched into, she found nothingness. But she _was_ nothingness.

She sipped her cold drink, trying to pinpoint the exact moment it all went horribly wrong. The moment she decided to let nothingness consume her, fill her, emanate out of her. Against her better judgment, she allowed her mind to drift off to simpler times.

She envisioned a girl. A girl with bright, brown hair and fair skin that radiated warmth and serenity. A beautiful, unfaltering smile crossed her perfect features. A smile that acknowledged her possession of everything she could ever desire and more…

But she was abruptly pulled out of her fantasies and brought back to harsh reality, which she greeted with a cold, bitter scowl. She felt like a washed-up fool for allowing herself to dwell in the never-changing past. She could never go back to being _that_ girl. That was the girl who had it all. Today, she was the girl who lost it all.

Hermione Granger was once young, headstrong, determined, and strong-willed. She had secured a promising career as an auror along with her best friends, the mighty Harry Potter and the unwavering Ron Weasley, the latter of which she had loved. Their devotion to each other elicited two years of dating and one year of engagement before an impending marriage. She welcomed thoughts of perhaps a warm cottage home inhabited by little ginger children equipped with reading comprehension levels well above the average toddler. She found herself giddy with happiness. She was surrounded by friends and family who showered her with love, sympathy, and respect. With her intelligence, beauty, exceedingly capable devices, and support from her loved ones, she had the world at her fingertips.

But alas, her fleeting merriment was short-lived. Everything changed after that tragic event. A heart-wrenching betrayal. Her seemingly indestructible world had suffered a monumental collapse.

_*Flashback*_

_She retracted her hand after the sharp edge of a piece of paper grazed her fingertip with sharp precision. She acquired yet another papercut. Hermione Granger was stuck late at her office doing paperwork. Oh, she loathed paperwork. She deemed it a tedious, meaningless task to be assigned to the likes of her. She ought to be out in the field, kicking some bag guy's arse. She heaved a frustrated sigh and continued filling out endless contracts and forms._

_Well, no matter. No challenge she couldn't surmount. After all, the sooner she finished, the sooner she could get home to her fiancé. There was a quiddich match today between Ireland and Bulgaria, one which her friends had the pleasure of attending. Hermione begrudgingly volunteered to stay behind and toil in the office whilst everyone else had fun. Hermione then remembered that she might return home to find a select few former Gryffindors drunk silly our of their minds, namely Ron, who had moved into Hermione's flat a few weeks prior to their engagement, and whose after-quiddich bashes were something that Hermione had grown accustomed to. But she understood his excitement and enthusiasm for celebrating the coveted sport._

_There were only two weeks left before the wedding. Hermione felt a mixture of nervousness and anxiety at the thought of marriage to Ron, but her apprehension was quickly overcome with eagerness to spend her life with the man she loved. That was enough to get her through these last months of planning and obsessing over incessant details with her maid of honor, Ginny. _

_She had finally finished going through the forms. After scribbling her signature on one last blank space, she hurriedly slipped on her coat and exited the premise of her workspace. She apparated outside her flat and took a moment to fumble with the keys before unlocking her door and entering her modest apartment. _

_She let out a knowing sigh at the sight before her: bottles of alcohol, torn bags of chips, discarded items of clothing, and unconscious party goers were strewn all over the carpet and random furniture items. She gingerly stepped around the random objects and web of limbs, searching for her groom-to-be. Normally she would find him passed out on the sofa or the kitchen counter, but he was nowhere to be seen. At this point, Hermione was semi-worried. The increased volume of the booming music did not help her flustered case. She cast a silencing charm over the stereo._

_She listened intently and heard a sharp screech coming from the direction of her bedroom. Her first thought was, 'Oh goodness, please don't let there be random people having sex on my bed, please please please…' She slowly approached the hallway leading to her room, and then jumped when another scream of pleasure emitted through the walls. Several lustful moans later, she was at the bedroom door. _

_She then heard a thrilled, feminine voice groan, softly saying a name over and over. Not being able to interpret said name, Hermione hesitantly placed her ear against the door. With her hearing capacity heightened, she could make out a sensual voice that uttered, "Ron… Ron… oh…" Hermione froze. She then felt dizzy and nauseous as a creeping, ominous chill found her spine. With a shaking hand, she twisted the doorknob and gasped at the sight before her: clothes torn and discarded, bed sheets disheveled, and on top of it all, in all their naked glory, were Ron and Lavender Brown, in the middle of what Hermione could only describe as the most horrifying sight she had ever encountered: Her husband fucking someone who wasn't her. For fuck's sake, the blond bimbo! Of all people!_

_The oblivious couple finally tore away from each other as they noticed a fuming Hermione Granger standing in the doorway. Ron yelped and immediately discontinued his unspeakable actions. He fumbled around for any item of clothing and pursued Hermione as she stormed out of their bedroom. _

_Hermione flipped out on Ron. She fought with Ron. She threw anything at hands reach at Ron, who tried to dodge her advances, but to no avail. She then retreated back to her bedroom and returned with a mass of blond hair in her grasp; Lavender Brown was being dragged around quite literally by Hermione Granger and thrown effectively out of the apartment. Hermione then stared at Ron for only a few seconds before crumbling to the floor in a heap of hysteric tears._

_Ron, in his half-drunk state, did not know how to handle the delicate situation. Any word he uttered could be his last, if he wasn't careful. He chose to move closer to Hermione and timidly placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, which he discovered was a huge mistake. _

_Hermione swatted his hand away, stood up, and smacked Ron twice across the face. Hard. She walked over on the carpeted floor and continued to weep silently. Ron sat still while red handprints took form on his injured cheek._

_After what felt like several hours, Hermione wiped away the flowing hot tears from her face and stood up with purpose, clenching her fists by her sides. Ron followed suit._

"_Hermione?" Ron started, followed by Hermione's strained, slightly uneven voice._

"_Why, Ron? Why did you do this?" Hermione tentatively inquired._

"_I dunno, Hermione. I didn't want to hurt you. It was a mistake! I was drunk and Lavender—"_

"_Don't say her name!" Hermione demanded sharply._

"_I'm sorry! I'm… I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Hermione. Please, you have to believe me. You have to forgive me." Ron ran a hand through his ginger mane and peered up with hopeful eyes._

"Forgive you?_ I can hardly look at you." Hermione spat. Her composure stiffened and her eyes flickered with steely, controlled rage. "I want you out," she stated simply._

"_Wh-What?" Ron looked taken aback at her request. "You don't mean that."_

"_Oh but yes, I do, Ronald. You hurt me. You're no longer the same person to me and you never will be. You disgust me! I can never trust you the same way again. We're through. The damage you've caused is irreparable. _Now get the fuck out."_ Tears threatened to spill at any second, but Hermione forced them back, granting Ron nothing but a tight line of lip to keep her emotions in check. She walked numbly to the main door and held it ajar for Ron's exit._

_Ron copied her movement but stopped in front of her. "Please, Hermione. Don't do this," Ron pleaded. "You know I can't live in a world where you and I aren't together."_

_This statement earned Ron a flicker of a smile. Hermione looked Ron dead in the eye and offered him advice in a clipped tone. "Hmm. Then kill yourself. Now get out. Leave!"_

_Ron scurried out. Hermione slammed the door shut and rested her back against the solid barrier, willing herself not to break down. But she wasn't invincible. _

_Her energy faded gradually as she slid helplessly to the floor. She cried and screamed for hours._

_*End flashback*_

After that incident, everything went downhill.

Hermione tried to move on, she really did. She wanted normalcy. She returned to work and put on a brave face, attempting to power through her routine activities. But she couldn't focus on anything. More often than not, she would find herself brought back from a daze as a fellow employee informed her that she had become unresponsive mid-conversation for several minutes. Her odd demeanor and glazed expressions caused a ruse in the workplace. People asked around, aiming to identify the cause of Hermione's dull mien. When the reason was finally ascertained—that Ron and Hermione had gone their separate ways—the news spread like wildfire. The gossip circulated all throughout the office.

Hermoine took notice of everyone's offhand behavior towards her, and realized that everyone knew about her misfortune. She overheard everyone's conclusions about how the breakup had transpired. Questions and ridiculously inaccurate suspicious arose out of every curious mind:

_I heard he cheated on her… I heard _she _cheated on _him!... _With Harry Potter…? Quite possibly… I heard Hermione Granger moved to the states because she was so ashamed of her actions… She aborted his child, didn't she?... Tut tut, what a tragedy…. Such a pretty young thing, she was… Oh, that evil wretch… She just had to drive everyone apart… Has anyone seen Hermione Granger?... Where is Hermione Granger?... She quit her job!... Goodness, she's disappeared!... Potter and Weasley won't reveal anything… But they don't know, do they?... Do you think—no. She couldn't have. But maybe… has she hung herself?... Pfft, I'd be relieved if she did… Oh, someone must alert Potter of his deceased child…_

She was a flaming topic of interest. Enraged at people's attempts to pry into her private life, Hermione lashed out at unsuspecting workers. Eventually her boss was made aware of Hermione's predicament, and she was given time off from work to recover from her grief-stricken state, despite her many protests.

None too pleased, she sulked around her flat. Days passed, nothing got better. She had become lazy. She hardly ever ate and never went out. Her skin whitened to a pale and she began to lose weight. She ignored Ron's many attempts to contact her and even avoided her worried friends. She did not want anyone to see her in this pathetic state. She wished to immerse in herself in self-pity and soon lost all sense of self-worth. She knew that distancing herself from Harry and Ginny would only drive them further towards Ron, but hey, they had to choose sides eventually. Harry was the best friend, Ginny was the sister. Hell, they could form their own Golden Trio if they wanted.

After months of being at home, locked away from all sources of news, Hermione finally decided to brush up on any current events, but instead became engrossed in a fascinating article about the sale of an early addition of _Hogwarts: A History. _She further skimmed the pages of her magazine, mildly amused at the absurd advertisements posted on the remaining space. She swiped another plastic sheet forward, and her jaw dropped when she stumbled upon a picture of Ron and Lavender together, holding hands and laughing. Ron was whispering something into Lavender's ear.

Hermione wanted to scream. She couldn't believe her ex fiancé was actually with that tramp! She couldn't believe he would publicize his relations with her so openly. Ron told her that Lavender was a mistake. And now he was all over magazines proving just the opposite. Was he… was he deliberately trying to hurt her? Hermione's spirits saddened.

She had lost her fiancé, her friends, and her job. She had nothing.

She couldn't take it anymore. She was fed up with all the rubbish. She needed to escape.

Hermione wanted to go to a place where she could never be found. Where she could escape the misguided stares of disapproval or pity. She was tired of the public eye keeping watch on her every movement. She chose to apparate to some unknown corner of town and had uncovered a small pub which seated few dwellers. This sad, lonely pub appeared to be the perfect environment to drink and forget.

Drink and forget. She had returned to the same nearly dilapidated pub every late night since then. She looked forward to her visits. She restlessly awaited her daily periods of solace.

She took another swig of her alcoholic beverage before tucking a few unruly strands of chocolate hair behind her ear, casting them away from her face. Almost immediately, they found their way back to their original position. Hermione merely huffed in frustration, blowing said locks of hair up into the air.

She ascended her glass for another sip of sake, when suddenly she felt a cold hand gently grip her shoulder.

"Granger?"

A/N: After years of reading fanfiction, I've decided to write my own. I overestimate my abilities, I assure you. Heh, but any sort of feedback is greatly appreciated! I originally planned for this to be a oneshot, but I'm going to extend to a short story. So I'll add at least one more chapter. Thank you!

P.S. Along with the ending, I've edited some parts in this chapter. Without doing so, I could not have found a decent way to flow into the next one… I don't mean to throw you.


	2. The Boy Who Had It All, Right?

Disclaimer: Any names you may recognize belong explicitly to the amazing J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 2: The Boy Who Had It All (Right?)

"Granger?"

Hermione, abruptly pulled out her hazy reverie, jumped at the sudden contact of skin on shoulder. She expectantly gazed upward, keen on identifying the source of the disturbance. She was met with two strikingly silver orbs that now gazed back into her brown ones with curiosity. Atop his head, she spotted tufts of platinum blond hair that grew haphazardly in random directions. She didn't notice before—due to the dim lighting which ill-served its' purpose of illuminating the quarters—that the man possessed startlingly pale skin. Skin that held an air of familiarity. Perhaps in her intoxicated condition, she had no earlier inclination that everything about this man was familiar. But it finally hit her: his gray eyes, his blond hair, his pale skin. Her nerves tingled with realization. She only recalled one man from her past who perfectly matched the peculiarity of this description.

"Malfoy?" A gasp escaped the back of Hermione's throat. Her mouth formed an "o" as she took in the rest of his appearance.

He was clad in a silver dress shirt, impeccably tailored dress pants, and Italian shoes. As an afterthought, she mentally added that the presumably expensive ensemble suited the man well. A small blush crept along her cheeks when she discerned that Draco Malfoy, was indeed, a very handsome man. She stared back at his face, which hinted a fraction of a smirk.

"Well, this is surprising, Granger. Couldn't spot this as your type of hangout. Oh, and quit staring at me. You look a fool," Draco commented casually as he seated himself in the bar stool directly beside Hermione's and ordered a drink. "So, do you come here often?" Draco implored jokingly as the corner of his mouth tugged upwards, manifesting a half-smirk.

Hermione immediately tensed. She straightened her back, forwardly bore her gaze into the glass which she so fiercely clenched, and grimaced. "Not that it's any of your business, Malfoy, but I come here quite a lot. It's the perfect place for, for people like me..." Hermione's voice trailed off dreamily. She then squinted her eyebrows in confoundment and inquired aloud, "What are _you_ doing here? I've never seen you here before."

"I needed to get away." The pale man merely shrugged his broad shoulders indifferently.

He sounds exhausted, Hermione noted. She turned towards him slowly and scrutinized his every plane and contour. She observed the way he leaned against the counter for support; He had both his elbows placed a short distance away from each other and he rested his forehead against the region where his hands and fingers intertwined. His back curved outward lazily, a clear sign that gave away his slouching. All his bodily placements, even his deep, heaving breaths, indicated that he was physically worn out.

Hermione was baffled at his condition. What could possibly trouble the enigmatic Draco Malfoy to the point of intense fatigue? Last she heard of him, he was in the process of overtaking his deceased father's multi-million dollar company, earning himself an impressive sum of unfathomable amounts. He and his mother were quickly rising in popularity amongst high class wizards; they attended all the important parties and functions, always partial to their social and business needs. Amidst all his thriving success, Draco shared his fortunes with his newlywed wife, Pansy Parkinson, his childhood companion for many years. He was practically on top of the world—or at the very least, the half under his ownership.

Hermione felt a pang of jealousy. Draco Malfoy had everything she didn't. Everything she had lost. What could possibly pester him? What gave him the right to sit here so carelessly, disrespecting her unspoken desire to be left alone? It was like he was shoving his wonderful life right in her face. Her emotions were at a breaking point; with her newfound envy added with her anger, remorse, and hate, all her pent up feelings boiled over in an uncontainable rage of frustration and fury.

"You needed to get away?" Hermione repeated forcefully. "From what? What drove you away? Was it the money? The popularity? Your family? Goodness Malfoy, you have it all! Your life is bloody perfect! Why aren't you satisfied? What possible distress could have brought you _here?_"

Hermione's explosion left Draco Malfoy at a loss for words. He could do nothing but stare intently at her scarlet face. She wore an accusatory expression as she huffed air in and out. Then, she froze. A look of bewilderment appeared on her mangled features. Utter bewilderment and shock. She regretted ever opening her mouth. She slowly retracted into herself and looked down in embarrassment, concealing her flushed face behind layers of curly hair.

Minutes passed. Both Hermione and Draco were too mortified at earlier events to exchange any further words. They did manage, however, to steal secret glances from each other every so often.

Hermione felt humiliated at her sudden outburst. She was generally the cool/calm/collected one, who personified the expression "keeping your emotions at bay." She felt exposed. She mentally scolded herself for blowing up at the unsuspecting Draco, who now probably thought she was some raving, bipolar lunatic.

"I don't have it all," Draco began. Hermione's ears perked up when Draco pioneered the first spoken words since what felt like ages.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione, having lost her train of thought ages ago, hadn't any clue what he was talking about.

"I don't have it all," Draco slowly reiterated. Draco continued in a soft, controlled voice, "You think I have everything? You think my life is perfect? Well, you don't know a damned thing, do you? My life is far from perfect. Your comprehensive abilities extend only as far as what you've read in newspapers or seen in magazines. Isn't that right, Granger?"

Hermione quickly averted her eyes, meeting anything but Draco's penetrating gaze. "My life, from my standpoint, has been nothing but a series of obligations. It all started around the time of my birth, you see." A low, self-deprecating chuckle elicited from the back of Draco's throat. "My parents were ardent followers of the Dark Lord and basically offered _my life_ in the line of duty. I spent my better years indirectly servicing Voldemort by adhering to my father's strict regiment. What teenager would want that sort of life? My father spent years twisting and coercing my brain to think and act a certain way. To look down on anyone we deemed inferior based on false prejudice. I was brainwashed to guide my actions with blind hatred. Do you remember how I was in school?" Hermione meekly nodded her head. "Yes, well, I apologize for that. I tormented you and called you Mudblood and all sorts of other cruel names. For that, I am truly sorry. I was never in my right mind; I was just a stupid kid. But I'd like to make amends now. Can you forgive me?"

Hermione was abashed at Draco's sincere confession. She opened her mouth to say something, but could muster no intelligent words. Her brain was still trying to process Draco's apology. She closed her mouth and nodded her head in the affirmative.

"That's good, Granger. So as I was saying, when the war concluded that Voldemort was no more, my parents and I had gone off to a secret location. We hid in fear of being discovered by any of Voldemort's followers. But after a few years, we decided it was time to face the world again."

"But we couldn't show ourselves to our old acquaintances. Not after having severed all ties to Death Eater relations. And given our past history, no one new would accept us. So my father established his company with whatever money was left under our name and initiated many charities, instituting the new face of Malfoys as benevolent peace-makers. With our renewed status quo, people eagerly invited us into their lives. By rising up social ranks, we were presented with an opportunity to forget our old, disconsolate life and welcome a brighter, unburdened future."

"But just as we thought things were looking up, my father died. I was twenty-two years old. The bastard never taught me the in's and out's of the trade, so I had to learn the business as it was forced into my unwilling and unfit hands. Are you going to fisnish that?" Without waiting for an answer, Draco picked up Hermione's glass and consumed the remaining liquor.

"I've perfected the mechanics of my father's profession by now, I assure you. But anyway, there was still the matter of keeping up public appearances. My parents had mastered the art of deception, you see. Attending formal banquets and charity events, plastering on fake smiles and memorizing quirky anecdotes. That was their thing. But when my father died, I also had to fulfill the position as head of the house. I had to lend the supportive arm for my mother as we lied and duped people together. Over the years, I must add, we've transcended any earlier methods my father might've come up with. We take duplicity to a whole new level. Are you thirsty? I'll order us some more thinks. Have some on me!" Draco carried on downing drink after drink, stopping only to wipe away any excess alcohol left behind with the back of his hand. The further he dove into his story, the more his speech slurred out of intelligence.

"So moving on, all I had to do to earn a solid place in society was get married. Easy enough, right? But we Malfoy's only affiliate the best of the best. In hopes of landing a most advantageous marriage, my mother suggested I wed Pansy Parkinson, a friend from school. You remember her, don't you? She had a rather disfigured nose. And she wasn't really all that pleasant to be around. Actually, she was horrid. She's far too clingy for my taste and her voice reaches decibels both frightening and dangerous to the untrained ear. But I complied with my mother's request because her parents generously sponsored our corporation. I later conceded that my busy work schedule would clash with her frequent shopping trips and spa treatments, so I would only have to see her at the occasional social function, where we would pretend to be the perfect couple." Draco slurped his last mug of alcohol clean, and set it on the counter with perhaps six others he had finished off.

"So there you have it. My life saga. As aforementioned, my life is just a list of obligations: My facilities were granted to Voldemort before I'd even learned to walk, my never-ending duties to my father—whose expectations I still must fulfill even after he's been dead for years, my social contract to stand by my mother in the face of all family matters, and my promise to provide Pansy with riches and fame by association."

"So year after year, I render all my time and wealth to satisfying the needs of others, really having nothing to myself. Nothing meaningful or substantial. Just superficial vanities that my mother and my wife are convinced I must have in order to be happy." His previous whimsical and drunken tone had sobered up in seriousness as he deadpanned his concluding statement, "So do you understand, Granger? I have nothing."

After staring for a few seconds at nothing in particular, he elaborated further. "Well, that's not entirely true. If there's one thing I have, it's envy… for you."

Hermione's neck snapped up in one rapid motion. She inquired in perplexity, "I beg your pardon?"

A sad smile etched onto Draco's attractive face. "I envy you," Draco insisted. "You and your friends, Potter and Weasel. It was painful to see you three at school. You always appeared so damn pleased to be in each other's presence. The bloody Golden Trio, they called you. Personally, I think the group would have fallen apart without you. You were the brains of the operation, obviously. Potter and Weasel would most likely be dead today if you hadn't entered their lives. No—" Draco summoned up one hand, silencing Hermione before any words sounded from her open mouth. "Don't even deny it."

"What I'm trying to say is that you three were consistently saving the sodding world every year from Voldemort's terror. And you were praised. Sometimes you received special recognition just for being Gryffindors! Which I concluded was highly unfair and biased. But anyway—all that time, I was suffering. I tirelessly put you down because I couldn't stand to see you happy, knowing it was at my own expense. Petty, I know. See, every time Potter and his sidekicks won one over, Voldemort lost. Consequentially, my father's temper flared. I had to undergo a lot of abuse during those times—both verbal and physical. And then I had to return to school to see your smiling faces."

Draco shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Did you ever consider what it was like for me? You were named a hero. You had compassionate friends and appraisal while I was labeled the bad guy and had nothing."

Hermione only gaped as Draco spilled his deepest secrets. She needed time. She needed time to absorb and analyze Draco's entire life story. She hadn't the faintest idea of his childhood struggles. Sure she was aware of his overbearing parentage, but only to an extent. She couldn't even imagine the horrors he had to endure, what with his connection to Voldemort and his followers. Her thoughts drifted back to 7th year when Draco's disturbed aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, had captured and tortured her because of the nature of her blood. She shuddered at the thought, pushing the memory back into the furthest recesses of her mind.

Hermione could hardly fathom the sacrifices Draco had made to transcend and uphold the reputation of the coveted Malfoy name. He gave up his entire childhood and most of his adult life to refute any dishonor cast upon the notable image of his lineage. At the mere age of twenty-one, he had accepted his role as head of the house. This was the ideal time to explore his options and seek out any career to uniformly suit his abilities. But he forfeited that right and chose to stay tied down to his familial responsibilities. He even married someone he could hardly stand because she would further help his cause.

In one night—nay, in one _conversation_, Draco Malfoy had completely altered Hermione's opinion. She had once known a boy who was selfish, ignorant, obnoxious, pompous, and utterly repulsive. But seated before her today was a man. A man who was not offered, but stuck with a miserable life. A man with terrible luck. But also a man who didn't complain. A man who didn't fight his fate and overcame bitter resentment with class and integrity. A man whose true loyalty would always lie with his family—those select few he held dear to his damaged heart.

"You know Granger, you're a great listener. I just hope I haven't lost you. That was a pretty lengthy history lesson. If you need me to repeat anything, just ask." Malfoy joked as he strummed his fingers on the countertop.

Unbeknownst to Hermione what compelled her to do so, but she extended her hand and placed it over Draco's and gently squeezed. Draco's eyes flickered immediately to Hermione's, searching for any shadow of emotion that would convey her reason for offering such a sentiment. Her expression was nervous and timid—she was afraid of how he would react to her touch. The look on his face was one of astonishment and doubt.

Hermione decidedly took another leap of faith and offered Draco a small smile, hoping to impart her friendly intentions. After a second or two, Draco returned the smile and repositioned his hand under Hermione's to better hold her fingers.

Draco's action sent tingles up Hermione's arm, which then roamed all over her body. For the first time since her life began its' downward tumult, she felt elated. Just incandescently happy. Perplexed, of course, that the source of her joy was her childhood nemesis. Even still, she couldn't shake the content feelings.

Draco understood the meaning behind Hermione's maneuver; it was a silent transaction of feelings. Her single act defined her comprehension and acceptance of his past and a show of peace for the future, which he gladly accommodated. Draco knew of Hermione's capacity for kindness and forgiveness; it was part of what made her beautiful.

"I know what transpired between you and Weasley," Draco started, pulling Hermione out of her delighted trance. He felt her tense in his hold, which he tightened. "I don't believe all the bullshit rumors flying about, but I know you had a falling out with him." Draco paused before proceeding, looking at Hermione for any signs of distress.

"Listen, a few weeks ago, I arranged for a business meeting to take place in this street, outside a little shop right across from here. The man I met with—shady character, he was—organized for us to get together late in the night so I could sell him one of my father's old dark artifacts without attracting an audience. I have many of father's old things that were passed down as family heirlooms, but they're completely useless to me now with this new, straight life I lead… After the proceedings of the sale, I was walking aimlessly around this deserted street, when I saw a light emerge into view. Following said light, I was brought here to this pub. I stood outside the place and I peeked inside. And I saw a girl sitting at the bar all by herself. I took notice of the girl's tussled brown locks and I wished she'd turn around so I could get a look at her face. Eventually, after minutes of staring off into nothing, she did. And after much squinting, I realized it was you, the elusive Hermione Granger—the one who incessantly popped up in every surrounding conversation and whose name appeared in every gossip column."

"I debated whether I should go in or not, but the look on your face clearly spelled out that you needn't any company, so I left. I returned the next day, same time same place, in hopes of seeing you again, Granger. Because you'd been the object of my curiosity and intrigue for so long, I couldn't help myself. And to my pleasure, you were there again! I came back the next several days and awaited your presence, and on cue, you were always there."

"Now, this was not stalking on my part. I never followed you home or tracked your movements. I only wanted to spot you at the bar."

"But after a certain time, I became concerned. Each time I saw you, your mood seemed to worsen. Your scowl grew deeper and your figure grew thinner, and I realized all the flying rumors had a fraction of merit to them. What else could upset your attitude so badly?"

"But alas, I could never summon the courage to just confront you and talk to you. I had no desire to offend or antagonize you, so I held back. I held back for ages. Until today," Draco gulped, then continued nervously, "Until today, because I just couldn't stand to see you in pain any longer. I wanted to help you." Draco searched Hermione's eyes, hoping they would reveal the emotion that she masked behind her impassive face.

Hermione's eyes gave away that she was deliberating and working something out in her brain; she was always one to over-analyze every innocent gesture. Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion and concentration. When finally it seemed she had reached a conclusion, her face hardened. She wore an offended, haughty glare and swiftly withdrew her outstretched hand.

"_Help me?"_ Hermione echoed. She scoffed with indignation. "You can't help me. You can't _want_ to help me. What genuine motives could the mighty Draco Malfoy harbor to seek out the likes of me?" Her expression softened; her voice laced with hurt and disappointment. "Why do you even care? Or are you only curious? Tired of hearing questionable accounts of my downfall? Did you want a personal interview?"

Draco's disbelief bubbled to a point of frustration. He threw his palms up in the air and rebuked, "Fuck, Granger! Stop acting so damn inconsolable. Look at me." Draco grabbed Hermione's upper arm and roughly turned her small frame in his direction. "I said, look at me. That's better."

Draco's angry demeanor melted to one of injury. "Now, have you that low an opinion of me? Tut tut, here I was, thinking I had reached you in someway. I only just bloody apologized for years of being a dick, and subsequently spelled out my deepest, darkest secrets. It feels like a lifetime has passed, doesn't it? I've told you _everything_, Granger. I let you in. All I ask is that you do the same for me; meet me halfway here. I'm… trying."

Hermione was taken aback by Draco's groundbreaking profession. "I'm sorry," Hermione began slowly. Draco raised a quizzical brow. "I'm sorry for being difficult. I'm having trouble letting people in. It's hard to trust people when everyone you love has given up on you. But I guess that's my own fault. I pushed them away." Hermione inhaled a deep breathe. "It all started when Ron cheated on me." Hermione paused, allowing Draco to digest the information. His eyes widened in shock.

"Yes, you heard me right. I caught Ron cheating on me. I immediately called off our engagement to the sodding bastard. That's the whole truth behind our breakup. Nothing more, nothing less. Ever since his act of infidelity, I've been out of sorts. I felt betrayed, hurt, and confused. So I shut everyone else out. I had to leave my job because I was incapable of maintaining professionalism."

"Oh, I just hated myself for letting things get this way. I felt helpless to redeem myself. One day I couldn't take it anymore and I just wanted to get away. So I picked a random alley in the outskirts of town and ended up here. I've returned here since then, without fail—as you so kindly pointed out earlier—to bewail and wallow in self-loathing."

Hermione finally peered up her downcast body, and let out a mirthless laugh. "Do you pity me now, Malfoy? Poor Granger, and her sad, pathetic, life. Well you can save the commentary. I'm well aware of my woebegone predicament," Hermione finished in a small voice hardly above a whisper. A tear escaped her glazed eyes and ran down her red-tinted cheek. She was well on her way to curling back into a melancholy shell of existence.

"I should go. It's late." Hermione wanted to leave, but her body would not allow her the privilege. She just sat numbly in her cold stool and bore her distracted gaze into nothingness, once more.

After an uncomfortable period of silence, Draco mumbled feebly, "Stop it."

"What?" Hermione responded, flustered.

"Stop it," Draco advised once more, with more conviction to his tone. "I know what you're doing. Your mind is reeling for any conceivable way to reprimand yourself for your burdens. But you can't blame yourself for what that son of a bitch did to you; his unfaithfulness was of his own accord, and you should never look down on yourself for it. That bastard knows that he fucked up, and I bet he regrets it every waking moment. You say you pushed your friends away. But if they were truly loyal, they would have stuck by your side no matter what. Your friends threw _you_ away in careless abandon. Why? Because you were_ grieving_. They should have been stronger, more dependable." Draco spat, trying to rid an imaginary taste of vile from his mouth.

"You can't keep tearing yourself down like this. Pretty soon, you'll drive yourself mad and grow into an old, bitter existence. Be the strong, courageous woman I once admired. I've seen plenty of her at Hogwarts, and I know she's fighting to break free." Draco eyed Hermione wearily before forging ahead.

"You and I are a lot alike, you know. As far as jobs go, neither of us enjoys our current positions—or lack thereof, in your case. We're discontent, nonetheless. We both have no real friends or companions to rely on. We were both pushed into independence and self-sufficiency. We never allow ourselves to tune in to our needs. We never instill trust in others."

"Why do you think we do that?" Hermione snapped bitterly. "We know what trust leads to. In the end, we get screwed over the people you believed in the most. I just can't do it anymore! I can't keep giving myself away, time and time again, just so I can have my heart broken…" Hermione's voice cracked. She set her elbows on top of her knees and buried her face in both hands, and broke into tears.

Draco's heart melted at the sight before him. A distressed Hermione Granger presented herself in a heap of mixed emotions. Draco was torn; his looming fears ordered him to take the easy route, which meant forgetting that he ever saw Granger tonight and just walking away, because staying would ensure unwanted feelings and drama and complication. But his heart, oh his foolish heart, urged him to comfort her. To hold her tightly and take away all her pain and suffering.

Scooting closer, Draco placed his right hand under Hermione's tear-stained jumble of fingers and gently stroked her hair with his left.

"Hey now," Draco said hesitantly. Consoling crying women was not his strong suit. "It's alright. It's okay…" Draco clenched both of Hermione's hands in his own and held them in place while up pulled up her chin with his other facility. Draco's breath hitched in his throat as Hermione's face met his own. A few loose strands of hair lay plastered to her her forehead. Her nose was red and puffy from sniffling back tears. Her face was tear-stained and flushed. In all her vulnerability and glory, Draco thought she was the most breathtaking sight he had ever beheld.

Hermione noticed his intense stare. She stiffened under his lingering scrutiny. She made to wipe away her tears when she felt Draco's feathery touch graze her cheek, accomplishing the job for her. His motion sent fiery sensations racing up and down her spine.

"You're so beautiful, Hermione." Draco whispered. His voice conveyed all his sincerity and awe. Draco took his hand, cleared away all the hair and tears from Hermoine's face, and continued to graze her jaw with the lightest of touches. "I've always thought you were beautiful. Your face… so pretty, so soft."

"You called me Hermione." The nervous girl questioned. Draco merely smiled.

"Well, that's your name, isn't it?" Draco gave a light-hearted chuckle, a heavenly sound which reverberated through Hermione's ears.

"I don't understand," Hermione probed further. "Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, we haven't spoken up in years. And all of a sudden, you show up unannounced, inform me of your life's unknown specifics, allowing me into your confidence. Then you call me by my first name and tell me that I'm beautiful?" Hermione snorted incredulously. "What exactly do you want from me?"

"I want your friendship," Draco answered candidly. "Well actually, if I'm being honest here, I want more than that. Talking to you and listening to you tonight has made me realize something. That in a way, we're perfect for each other."

"Oh Draco," Hermione gushed, saying his first name for the first time. Draco's face brightened at her word choice. Hermione relished the way the two-syllable word rolled sweetly off her tongue. She wanted to repeat it over and over again, never having uttered anything so magical.

Hermione was grounded once more as skepticism entered her blissful trance. She frantically rambled, "We can't do this. We can't possibly be good for each other. We're both so damaged beyond repair." Hermione pitifully shook her head. "I need to go."

Hermione wrenched out of Draco's grasp and hastily made her way for the door. But before she could make her exit, a strong hand latched onto her lower arm and held her in place. She turned back and found Draco's determined face.

"I won't let you run away anymore, Granger. I won't let you walk away from me. I've just found you. I don't want to lose you. I can't let this go." Draco's voice wavered slightly. "If we are ever so lucky to discover a kindred spirit who shares in our misfortunes and despair, we can either continue in our downward spiral alone, or rise above it together. And maybe, just _maybe_, we'll make it through. You have a choice, Granger. Choose me."

Hermione gasped at Draco's final proposition. His words had touched her heart and opened up her mind. '_Choice,_' Hermione echoed in her head. The single word bounced around her head, filling her with hope, an emotion she hadn't felt in ages.

Looking at the man before her, she knew his feelings were genuine. She could hardly believe Draco Malfoy had just proclaimed his emotions so truthfully. Hermione pushed aside all creeping thoughts of doubt and fear and apprehension. For the first time in years, she succumbed to her heart's desire.

Hermione reached for the hand that had captured her arm, took it in her own, and smiled up at Draco. She pulled him with her toward the door, turned the knob, and led him outside.

"Hermione?"

Hermione stood gazing at the bar behind her. "Doesn't it look smaller somehow? It seems less homey." Hermione turned to Draco. "I came to this abandoned pub, night after night, because it made me feel safe. It gave me a sense of security. Because here, I was away from all the chaos and madness of the real world. I could just escape into my secure little hideout. Something like a haven."

"But now I realize that I don't need this place anymore… because I've found a haven in you. I can tell you my secrets without fear of being judged. I can be vulnerable with you because I feel safe with you. And I'd very much like to be your friend, that is, if you'll still have me?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Draco laughed in pure joy. "Silly girl, of course I will." Draco kissed Hermione's forehead and hugged her close.

He had found his haven, as well.

_fin._

A/N: Special shoutout to Ahkasha for being my first ever reviewer! I was overjoyed to read your review. Anyway, I wanted to hurry up and conclude this chapter before school started. I spent many sleepless nights trying to finish this up, so it might not be my best work. But thanks to all who took the time to read my first ever fanfic! It truly means the world to me.


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